Impavid

A routine formed. Because I could no longer stand not doing anything, I woke up every morning. I swam, I ran, I came home and ate. After the first two weeks, my muscles stopped screaming. I stopped gasping for breath, and I stopped flinching at the cold of the water.

Finnick thought I was crazy. He laughed when he had come back from the capitol and I was throwing myself into the freezing cold water every morning. Sometimes he found himself content to sit on the beach and watch me. Sometimes he even shouted a correction to me when I was swimming.

It was like he was mentoring me again.

At the end of my run, I sat down in the sand. Finnick was sitting there, staring out at the water. We didn’t say anything. Then he surprised me by shifting his hand, lifting it and setting it on my knee delicately. It was an act of affection. I glanced at him, but if he was worried about what I thought, he didn’t show it.

Very carefully, I set my hand on top of his. I was slow to do it, cautiously looking at him when I did. I knew what he did in the capitol, therefore I was always hesitant to responds to Finnick when he touched me. If I had to live like he did… I wouldn’t want anyone to touch me.

As if he were reading my thoughts, he murmured, “You’re always terrified to touch me.”

“That isn’t true.”

I was expecting Finnick to get angry at my lie, but instead, he turned on me quickly. He was on me in seconds, shoving my back against the ground as he straddled me, pinning me down to the ground. I was so startled by him that I had no idea what to do except stare at him. He stared back. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

He kept me pinned. Moving a hand he traced my collar bone with his finger, rough and callused. I bit down on my lip hard, almost hard enough to draw blood to fight the shiver that wanted to rip through me. I had no idea what he was doing, but I fought it. In seconds, he was rolling off again, muttering, “I knew it.”

I lay there on the ground for a moment, breathless. I finally scrambled up, darting after him. “What the hell was that?”

“You’re terrified to touch me, even to defend yourself and push me off of you.”

“I’m not-"

He whirled. He looked furious. “Yes, you are. You’re scared you’re going to set me off by touching me. You don’t even know you do it, but you shy away from me, you treat me like I’m some delicate thing.”

“Finnick-"

“Don’t treat me like a child.” He was walking away again. I was unsure if I should follow him. He was angry, and I understood why. “You make me feel broken when you do that, and that is the last thing I want from you.”

As it turns out, I didn’t follow Finnick. I stood in the sand, staring at my feet. Because I knew exactly why he was mad, and I knew exactly why he had straddled me like that.

Finnick didn’t like being treated differently. He held this façade that he was charming, arrogant and smooth in front of the capitol, but when he was with me, he was the real Finnick. He was my friend. For me to treat him like I was scared to touch him because he trusted me enough to tell me things, was a slap in the face. He told me because he wanted a friend, not someone to feel pity like I had been.

Inside, I sat on my bed, staring at a wall. Finnick’s fingers had burned a hot path on my skin around my collar bone. I could almost feel the weight of him still on me, as he test to see if I would react. Inside I reacted the way he wanted to, but I fought to stop the response. He knew it.

Hours passed and I didn’t see him. Instead of sitting in my room and knowing that he was pissed off at me, I went down to the docks to find my brother. His school had let out and he usually went down to the docks afterwards, helping clean boats, learning what he could. He would be one of those men one day, so he was trying to figure it out early.

Taking a break from helping the men, he sat on the end of the dock with me, my skirt pulled up to place my feet in the water. He did the same thing. Even though he was much younger than I, he was just as tall as myself. I was absolutely tiny, which had worked in my favor in the games; there were lots of places to hide, when you’re small.

Cain told me all about school, and how his favorite subject was history. He liked learning about Panem, but he also admit to me that he thought the history books were wrong, that pieces didn’t fit. That boy was too smart for his own good. Of course the books were wrong.

When the end of the day came, I walked him home. Usually we went our separate ways when we came to the victors village. Figuring that the lack of Finnick already made me miserable, a brief visit to my parents could not possibly make it any worse.

I wasn’t wrong.

My parents had never treated me the same, when I had one the games. They were completely torn when I left, but they felt even worse when I came home, mentally torn and having the mentality of a wild animal at night when the dreams came- it had taken a month for them to decide I should live on my own in the victors village. How kind of them.

They asked me how I was and what I did to pass the time. They didn’t ask me about much else. My parents had lost things to talk about with me. They did not want to bring up the games, which was good, but they also didn’t want to delve into how I was feeling, if I was sleeping okay. So I didn’t tell them.

Nothing cut deeper than a parents crave for ignorance.

Except maybe the fact that Finnick didn’t talk to me, even when I passed him coming home.

*

”Just remember,” Mags said quietly, brushing a strand of hair back into my neat bun, “You’re their princess. You are charming, you are sweet, and you are going to steal their hearts away. Understand me?”

I nodded. But really, I felt like I was going to vomit. I could hear Caesar Flickerman finishing up the interview before mine. I was almost shaking, knowing that I was about to step into the spotlight in front of thousands of people for my one on one. But I had to put on a sweet face, I had to be sweet, like Mags said.

Dressed in a beautiful, soft, peach gown, I looked like a princess. I looked delicate and almost beautiful. My cheeks were rosy and my lips were full and pink, my cheek bones highlighted and pronounced. My green eyes were lined with light colors, making me seem doe-eyed and young.

Everything was a part of my strategy; steal the hearts of the capitol, become their sweetheart. Most girls tried to do this, but I was better at it. I looked the part more than the vicious girls from one and two; I looked sweet, kind. I wasn’t. But that didn’t matter.

Catching Finnick looking at me, I gave him a small smile. He looked me up and down and then grinned at me. It wasn’t the same grin that I had first gotten when I met him, the charming smirk that had stolen my breath. It was a real one, one that told me good luck and he was confident in me.

As my name was called, I clung to that, walking up the stairs, careful not to trip in my heels as I put on a blinding smile, looking out at the crowd and completely owning them. They screamed for me and I did a delicate wave, blowing sweet kisses. I knew that I would get a load from Finnick about it later, teasing me.

“Lana Ladureé!” Caesar called, smiling. He was all peach, like me. His hair was dark like a pomegranate, his eyebrows a shade lighter, and then his clothes a shade lighter still. He gave a huge grin as he kissed my extended hand. “Welcome!”

We both sat delicately. I was poised as I faced the crowd. I was still smiling, but it was softer now. Then I looked at my host, leaning out and swatting playfully at him. “We match, Caesar!”

“So we do!” the crowd yelled and I let out a laugh. I never felt so fake in my life. “You look a lot better than I do, though.”

“Ah, but it takes me quite a long time!”

Another laugh. “So, Lana. Do you feel like you’re ready for the games?”

My smile was saddened. At least, I hoped that’s how I came off. “I’m very ready, Caesar. I’m just so sad for the other components. They’re wonderful, all of them. I just wished that good people like them didn’t have to go in.”

The crowed let out a mournful sound, but I knew that what I was doing was working. They saw me as thoughtful, now. “I know,” he assured, reaching out and patting my hand. “I know. What makes you think that you’ll win?”

“I have a brother back home,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady. Mags had told me that this would be the hardest part, to keep the emotion in the correct side of the spectrum; sad, but not weak. “And he’s very sick. But if I win, I know that he can get better, that I can get him the help he needs.” The crowd cheered like maniacs as I wiped a tear. I wasn’t sure if it was real or fake. “I just know that I would do anything for him.”

He gave me a sad smile, squeezing my hand. It was like he was almost concerned about it. Almost. “I know. You love your brother, I assume?”

“Absolutely. And as much as I love these people I’ve met, I know that my brother is the most important thing in my life.”

Another sad sound went through the crowd. Caesar looked at them. “Well there you have it folks! Lana Ladureé will do anything for her brother. What a sweet heart.”

When it was all over and I was walking back stage again, I went straight to Mags. I ignored the other tributes. I cared nothing for them or if they bought my performance. I didn’t want to make allies in that moment. I wanted to ask her how I did.

Before I got to Mags, Finnick intercepted me, grabbing my wrist delicately. I looked at him, surprised. There was something there in his face, something I couldn’t read. “You sounded almost innocent and delicate up there,” he murmured. He scanned her up and down. “You look it too.”

“But?” he tilted his head. “It sound’s like there is a ‘butt’ coming.”

He grinned. “But you are anything but sweet, Lana. I know you’re secrets, remember?”

“You know everyone’s secrets.” He made a weird face then. It wasn’t how I expected him to respond to my joke, but something strange flashed across his face. With a nod, he walked away. I watched him. With a whisper, I added, “Don’t you?”

For once, I didn’t wake up from my dream with a start. I simply opened my eyes. My body clock had adjusted to waking up early, to getting up and going out for a swim. I didn’t want to. I wanted to lay in bed, and I wanted to wish as hard as I could for Finnick to come and accept an apology from me.

Instead, I got up, got dressed, and walked out into the ocean. My stomach dropped as I got there, and I realized that my sleepy brain had been expecting to see him sitting there in the sand, waiting for me to endure the bitter water for over an hour. He wasn’t.

So I went on alone. Though my body was fit enough to fight the tide, I felt like it was harder than ever. It was probably because I knew that Finnick wasn’t there watching me on the beach. But I pushed on, swimming harder until I was all the way, miles down the other side of the beach, pulling myself out of the water to run.

A numbness settled over me. I just ran, short breaths in and out. I didn’t think about Finnick, I didn’t think about my dream, I didn’t think about how my parents did not ask about how I was really doing, and I did not think about how later that day, I had to tune in to watch a capitol announcement.

After breakfast, I took a hot shower, washing the salt from the ocean and my own sweat off of me. When I finished, I dressed in white, blousy top and a sea-green skirt. There were certain days where I knew that it was better to dress nice. This was one of those days. (I tried to dress nice, at least attempting to go off of what Bellona would have worn.)

By myself and sitting on my couch, I tuned into the capitol. I was late watching. Sipping lemon water, I watched as President snow approached the podium. It was a celebration of the Quarter Quell, a hunger games event that only happened every twenty-five years.

I had never seen a quarter quell. I wasn’t born yet when the last one had happened. But I knew that these games were of particular horror, the ante always amped of to sickening and inhuman notches.

“Welcome,” he began, silencing the crowd. “It is my pleasure to announce, that this is the third quarter quell, and the 75th annual hunger games. As a reminder of sacrifice, duty, and that even the strongest of the strong may fall, at this year’s reaping, the tributes from each district will be selected from the already existing victors of that district.”

Blood rushed. My ears roared. The glass slipped from my hands. It crashed into a thousand pieces. I slid from the couch to my knees and then on all fours. I was trying to find my breath. My heart was pounding. I found my pain, my terror, and my tears. But I couldn’t find my breath. It was lost, somewhere unreachable.

My hands bit into the shards of glass. I felt them cutting into my skin, but I was hardly aware of the pain. It was pinpricks to what I felt inside of me. But I was choking, gasping for air that I couldn’t find. It was lost, gone.

And then Finnick came in and found it for me.